Beauty Where I Want Her

I've got Beauty where I want her but I think that every time.
If it's warrantied or monogrammed or framed it isn't mine.
When they reason closely in the stern, cry the distance from the bow:
it's not so easy breezy that way for them to see you, now.

You were wild, you were a bit too much. I couldn't get enough.
You were everything I loved about the things I could not love.
I dropped other destinations to get to you somehow.
It's not so easy breezy, it is, for you to please me now?

You said 'give a 20 to the gypsy, though she'll still just tell you what she will.
It may feel strange to pay to be deceived. Give her the 20, still.'
You said, 'You don't mind being lied to, if you can choose by whom and how.'
It's not so easy breezy, baby, to believe you now.

So I studied to tell your tarot cards, but I could never say for sure.
You said anything with hearts or swords or staves could not be yours.
So I made you your own tarot deck with stuff even gypsies don't allow
and it seems to work well but I can't tell a damned thing about you now.

My compass spins less frantically out here beyond the light.
Now that I cannot see it I feel sure it works alright,
although if I'm to be honest I trust the stars more anyhow.
It's not so easy breezy this way to deceive me now.

I've got Beauty where I want her but I still might take a dive
so the corpse is undisturbed and self-possessed when you arrive,
with the door key in its pocket and the floor plan on its brow.
And I hope it's easy breezy that way for you to read me now.